


Visual Acuity

by clinterrific (rosasynstylae)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: But he's the only one, Clint has wings, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, What do you call it when everyone has an animal trait, Wingfic, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-21 10:44:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosasynstylae/pseuds/clinterrific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the people sitting was Natasha; he felt his breath catch a little. She was just as beautiful as he remembered.  Her bright green scales cascaded down her arms, black ones interspersed to make a beautiful striped pattern.  He remembered tracing them with his fingers, then his tongue.  That had been a long time ago.<br/>They all looked over at him when he opened the door.  Clint could see three of them tense – at the table a wolf and a fox, and one of the chefs, a leopard.  They didn’t know whether to classify him as safe, or a danger.  He understood.<br/>Natasha stood, watching him.  She was a bit wary herself.  He just held up a hand.<br/>“You’re awake,” Natasha stated. Clint shrugged.<br/>“Obviously. And, I’m a bit hungry. If I could get some food, that’d be great.”<br/>One of the men at the table, a porcupine, got up to grab him a chair, placing it in between him and Natasha. “Come sit,” he offered, smiling mildly at him.  Clint hesitated for only a moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Pepper padded silently down the hall; she didn’t want to wake the others. It was early morning and while she would be surprised if Phil was not awake and it was possible that Natasha was just resting, the others slept until very late. The stone floors were cold against the pads on her feet and her tail swung behind her, helping her keep balance. She carried a bucket of warm water with her and a rag; the shrine would be dirty. It was the day after one of the Aves’ semi-annual sacrifices, and Loki had never left one alive. They always seemed more fragile than mammalia groups, such as the Canidae.  
She quietly pushed open a door, the cold metal etchings digging into her hands. A body laid across the shrine, covering some of the elaborate runes carved into the stone. The man’s wings were extended over the sides, hanging down. One of them was obviously broken. Feathers were scattered across the ground, but there was less blood than there normally was. Pepper kneeled and started to pick up the feathers, piling them in the corner; they could be useful later.  
When she came to move the dead man off of the shrine, she frowned. Pepper hoped that he was lighter than he looked. She slid her hands under him, tilting him up and trying to get a better purchase. The body groaned and Pepper froze. It shifted a little and she dropped him, letting out a scream and stumbling away from it.  
Within seconds, Steve came running in the doorway, Tony close on his heels. “Pepper!” She had pushed herself against the wall, puffed up from fear. She pointed at the body.  
“It moved!”  
Tony glanced at the body, and moved in between it and Pepper. “It’s okay. If he’s bad, we’ll protect you. Steve?”  
Steve nodded and gently prodded the man’s shoulder. A groan lifted from his lips, but he didn’t move. He didn’t even open his eyes.  
“… Clint?” Natasha was standing in the doorway now, Phil watching from behind her. She didn’t even look at the others as she strode across the room, pushing Steve away from the man. “Clint, open your eyes.” She shook him gently. The man peeked open an eye. It didn’t focus, but he seemed to still be able to see.  
“Tash?”  
Natasha let out a soft sigh of relief. “Yes, Clint, it’s me.” The man let out a soft, amused huff.  
“Of course this is how I find you,” he murmured, voice rough from the screaming that had echoed through the temple. Natasha shook her head.  
“Okay, you’re alive. Now rest.” Clint just hummed in reply. She turned to the others. “Steve, help me get him up. We need to get him cleaned up and bandaged. Pepper, Tony, could you get his wings?” They all got in position, picking Clint up carefully and carried him towards the door.  
Bruce was standing next to Phil in the doorway, wringing his hands a little. He was obviously agitated, his quills puffed up a little and threatening to poke through his clothes. His eyes widened when he saw the state that the Ave was in. “I’ll go get the first aid kit.” He hurried off.  
Phil smiled at Pepper. “Why don’t you go help Dr. Banner. I can carry his wing.” Phil slid his hands under the wing gently, taking the weight of it from Pepper. She pulled away and hurried off after Bruce.  
The man was laid down on the largest bed they could find, carefully unfolding his wings. He had seemed to have blacked out again. Natasha sat next to him, looking him over. She gingerly touched his shoulder.  
Bruce shooed most everyone out of the room when he got there, although Natasha refused to go. She watched him patch Clint’s wing the best he could, splinting it so it wouldn’t heal crooked. No other large wounds were found.  
Small bald patches littered his wings, from where Loki had obviously pulled out the feathers. “Will he be alright?” she asked Bruce as he packed up the bandages.  
“Physically? After his wing heals he’ll be in top condition. Mentally, who’s to say.” Bruce sighed. “At least Pepper didn’t have to clean up another dead body.”

\--------

Clint woke alone. He sat up slowly, careful of his wing, which ached. Someone had splinted it. He ran a mental check on himself. His ass throbbed and his wing was broken, but he would be alright. Clint got up slowly, tucking his good wing in. The other was wrapped tightly against his body so it wouldn’t move, tucked up against him.  
The door opened silently to his relief. There wasn’t anyone around to hear it anyways. The halls, while ornately decorated with carvings, were silent. He ran his hand along one, following the twisting, curling picture. It reminded him faintly of home, of the pictures both on paper and skin.  
It made sense that the pictures were familiar. His ancestors had built this temple to Loki, and they still worshiped him to this day. The style was distinctly avian. Clint felt a quick throb of homesickness before he pushed it down. He hadn’t even been gone that long.  
The hallway stretched on, and on, and on. Eventually, he could hear voices, a few people talking. Someone laughed, a male. Clint braced himself and walked towards the noise, opening the door when he got to the right place.  
Several people were sitting around a table, while two more worked on preparing food in a crude kitchen. One of the people sitting was Natasha; he felt his breath catch a little. She was just as beautiful as he remembered. Her bright green scales cascaded down her arms, black ones interspersed to make a beautiful striped pattern. He remembered tracing them with his fingers, then his tongue. That had been a long time ago.  
They all looked over at him when he opened the door. Clint could see three of them tense – at the table a wolf and a fox, and one of the chefs, a leopard. They didn’t know whether to classify him as safe, or a danger. He understood.  
Natasha stood, watching him. She was a bit wary herself. He just held up a hand.  
“You’re awake,” Natasha stated. Clint shrugged.  
“Obviously. And, I’m a bit hungry. If I could get some food, that’d be great.”  
One of the men at the table, a porcupine, got up to grab him a chair, placing it in between him and Natasha. “Come sit,” he offered, smiling mildly at him. Clint hesitated for only a moment.

\-------- 

Clint had been told to rest, by the porcupine Bruce. The man had apparently been the one to bind his wing. It had been done pretty well; Clint figured he should listen. He sat in his room, or what the others used as a sort of makeshift living room. Food appeared magically in the morning in the kitchen. That thought made the back of Clint’s neck prickle. The only person sending that food could have been Loki, the asshole. The Aves may worship Loki, but he was a dick.  
Pepper had been quick to introduce herself after Bruce. She seemed kind, despite being obviously a tigress. Her colouring was a deep orange and extended up to frame her face. Her stripes cut through the colour, and there was even a spot here or there. Her hair, oddly enough, was blond and her eyes blue. She looked very exotic, and beautiful. If he stared at her too long, Tony, the red fox, would start to make a sort of growl. It was clearly a back off signal.  
Pepper often would talk to him while she worked, if he was in the room. She cleaned and tided and cooked; it confused him sometimes. Why would a hunter, a predator, do this sort of songbird work? Especially a tigress. It would make more sense if Bruce did it, not being born a predator.  
She just smiled when he brought it up though.  
“I was made to take care of the others. I think I was made a tiger just to show off, to be honest. It isn’t as if I have ever been hunting.”  
Clint stared at her for a moment. “You’ve never been on a hunt?”  
“No, and contrary to what Tony says, neither has he.”  
That was so… backwards. A predator never going on a hunt? Clint tilted his head a little. “What about Steve?”  
Pepper finished mending a pair of pants and tied off her stitches. “I wouldn’t know. He doesn’t really talk about his past. I would be surprised if he hasn’t, though. He doesn’t seem to be from a place like Tony.”  
Clint frowned a little. The way she talked was strange. Even Clint, who had never been outside of the forests he was born in, knew that Tony was obviously from an intermix city. It was as if Pepper didn’t even know what that was.  
“Where are you from?”  
She looked at him for a moment, before putting her needle and thread away. “I was created by Loki through magic. I was ‘born’ here. I’ve never left. Tony tells me that my kind are extinct. I’m never really sure if he’s telling the truth or lying so I don’t leave to look for them. I wouldn’t leave either way, but Tony doesn’t always believe that.”  
Clint stared at her. She had been made by Loki. Could she be trusted? The others seemed to, but… She had been made by the god of lies and mischief.  
“Loki made you?”  
She gave him a strange look. “Yes, both Phil and I. We were made to look after all of you.” She put away her box. “I’m going to go give these to Bruce, be right back.”  
She vanished out the door and around the corner. Clint watched her tail whip out of sight and let out a soft sigh. He definitely couldn’t trust her, or Phil. Not yet.

\-------

Clint watched Pepper make pillows, his feathers filling the fabric sacks before she sewed them closed. She hummed happily as she worked, and Clint found that he didn’t mind the soft noise. “These will make nice pillows for you,” she commented after a while, “Do you molt?”  
“Yeah, everyone does.” Clint shrugged, wincing a little when it moved his broken wing. He wondered where he would go for his molt; they were carried out in houses, away from others outside of family, until the feathers had grown back in. The old feathers were taken above the trees and spread into the wind. It signified a release from the previous year, a cleansing of sorts. Like the feathers held one’s sins.  
Clint obviously would be unable to fulfill the ritual, come his next molt.  
Pepper smiled at Clint’s short answer. “If I could, I’d like to have your feathers from it. I could make everyone some nice soft pillows from them.”  
Clint didn’t reply for a moment, then – “No, you shouldn’t.” He didn’t want to stain the others with his mistakes. He looked away when Pepper’s face fell a little, but she didn’t push.

\-------

Tony was bothering Steve. Clint watched as the blond became more and more annoyed, but did nothing other than scold the fox. It was obvious that Tony liked Steve; he was the little boy pushing the girl out of the trees.  
Steve had been trying to draw, but Tony had interrupted. Steve was holding the sketchbook away from the other, high above his head. Tony would jump for it, coming close to touching it, but never quite reaching. Tony whined.  
“Come on, Steve! Let me see it!”  
Steve’s hand came down a little just as Tony jumped. His hand closed around the book and yanked it out of Steve’s grip.  
Tony was on the other side of the room in an instant, inspecting his bounty. “Woah… Clint, come here, you’ve got to see this!”  
Steve stalked towards Tony. “Tony. Give that back to me!” He was blushing faintly. Tony ducked under Steve’s arm, heading for Clint. Steve frowned. “You can’t show that to him!”  
“I don’t want to see any naked pictures of you, Tony, as well as Steve draws.”  
“No, this is you.” Tony handed off the sketchbook before Steve could grab it again.  
The picture was of Clint. His wings were completely extended behind him, and instead of his normal clothes, he was in a suit of armor. Light poured out of him as he swung a sword to cut down people at his feet. It was a beautiful drawing and Clint found himself carefully running a hand down it, to see if it was real.  
“It’s… You’re an angel,” Steve started to explain. Clint looked up at him in confusion at the strange word.  
“An angel? What’s an angel?”  
Steve shrugged. “My mom was an archeologist, before she married my dad and joined the pack. She used to think that Aves were the oldest type of people. She told me that a long time ago that our human ancestors didn’t have wolf ears or tails or anything, but there were drawings of people with wings and they were called Angels. And Angels were fierce warriors and protectors. It’s just, your wings remind me of them. Sorry, if it bothers you…”  
Clint looked back down at the picture. “It doesn’t bother me.” He lied smoothly. A protector? Not anymore. He had never been very good at protecting people. Clint handed the sketchbook back to him. “So, your mom thought Aves were the oldest people?”  
Steve took it, brightening a little. “Yes! She said that there had been pictures of them drawn as far back as 350 BC. Mom used to think that Aves had existed as far back as then and lived among our ancestors. She had been trying to prove it when she married Dad.”  
Clint nodded. “I… didn’t know that. I guess I don’t know much of my own history.” He shrugged a little. Steve closed the sketchbook and Tony grabbed for it again, trying to bring Steve’s attention back to himself. It worked, and Clint sat down to watch the eventual blow up. 

\-------

Bruce’s fingers were gentle as he unwrapped Clint’s wing. It had been a long time, and Bruce had decided that the wing was healed. Clint moved it hesitantly, and it extended with ease. He tried flapping it and it hit Bruce, who cried out in surprise.  
“Sorry.”  
“No, no. Does it hurt?” Bruce reached out to touch it gently, running his hand over the bone.  
“Nope, not at all.”  
“And it moves just like before?”  
Clint extended and pulled in his wings a few times before nodding. “Yeah. Little stiff, but otherwise good as new.”  
Bruce smiled. “Natasha will be glad to hear that. She was worried about you.”  
Clint folded his wing back up, his muscles tensing. “Yeah? She was?”  
“She kept asking me if I thought that your wing was going to heal.” Bruce gently touched Clint’s shoulder, noticing his mood. “I don’t know what happened between you two, but she cares about you.”  
“Don’t. Just, please, Bruce. I’m tired.” Clint rubbed his face. Bruce pulled away.  
“Alright. I’m going to go now. Pepper said that dinner would be in a few hours.”  
“Yeah. See you then.”

\--------

Clint woke to an itching feeling covering his wings. He fluttered them a little, but the itch didn’t fade. He groaned and stretched out his wing, itching at it gently. Two of his feathers fell from his wing to lay on the bed next to him. Clint let out a soft breath.  
No. No, no no no no. He hadn’t figured out what he was going to do with the feathers. His molt couldn’t happen yet! He sat up and picked one up. He’d have to get rid of them somehow, so that there was no chance of the others touching them. Clint had become tentative friends with them; he had to protect them.  
He spun the feather his hand, trying to figure out what to do with it. He needed to destroy them- The fire. He could throw them in the fire. Clint threw the arrow like a dart, right into the fire. It burned up slowly, and the second soon followed it.  
Clint let out a soft breath. Only about a month and about one thousand, five hundred more feathers to go.


	2. Chapter 2

Natasha was the first to find out.  She had caught him picking up the feathers that he had dropped when getting some food out of the kitchen.  Natasha raised an eyebrow at him and went to help, reaching for a feather, but he quickly grabbed it. She couldn’t touch them. No one could.

She had gone through a molt with him once; she had helped sooth his wings and collect the feathers.  It had been intimate, as all molts were.  Clint wouldn’t let her in on this one.

“I’ve got it. I don’t need any help this time.”

Natasha frowned a little, but backed off. “Of course.  If you do need help later, though, you know where to find me.”

Clint just nodded. She may offer, but he wouldn’t take it up. He wasn’t going to let her in again.

 

 ------

 

The look that Tony was giving him over breakfast was odd. Clint nibbled on the food in front of him.  He wanted to be alone, was used to being alone while his skin prickled and his feathers fell. He was irritable, and if Tony didn’t stop staring at him…

“What?! What do you want?” he finally snapped, briefly considering throwing his fork at the brunette’s head.

“So, your feathers fall out?  That’s weird.  Do all Aves’ feathers fall out?”

Clint bristled. He really didn’t want to answer Tony’s annoying, invasive questions. “No. Not all of us.” He stood up, stomping over to the trash to throw away most of his uneaten food. He could feel everyone staring at him, and it just pissed him off more.

The dishes were placed in the sink and all fallen feathers retrieved before Clint vanished back into his room, closing and locking the door.  He wasn’t planning on coming out until he was done molting.  Steve knocked on the door a while later, apologizing for Tony, but Clint said nothing and did not come out.

 

 ------

 

Clint carefully picked up the feathers that had fallen from his wings, throwing them in the fireplace.  He knelt to watch them burn.  The spine of the feather always took the longest to burn away.

The door squeaked open and Clint stood, moving into a defensive position.  Bruce came in quietly, eyes locking with Clint’s and not leaving them.  “You’ve been in here for half a week, and haven’t eaten.  You need a lot of protein to grow in new feathers.” His voice was soft as he closed the door behind him.

That was when Clint noticed the plate of food; scrambled eggs, rice and nuts.  He dropped his stance, showing Bruce that it was alright if he approached him.  Bruce walked over to him, footsteps quiet, and gently guided Clint to sit on the bed.  Clint took the plate from him and devoured the food.  Bruce settled on the bed behind Clint, inspecting his wings.  His hands were gentle and Clint relaxed just a little.

“There’s a room that is connected to the baths, and taking a bath would help with the itching and preening,” Bruce started to gently scratch at the feathers and Clint melted a little. “Come on,” he said softly, getting out of the bed. Clint got up as well, leaving the plate aside.  He checked around the room to be sure that there were no feathers left before following Bruce.

The room was small; just enough space for a bed and two chairs.  The fireplace was blazing, seeping away the chill.  Bruce opened a second door, catching Clint’s wrist and pulling him gently. Clint followed.

One of the baths was already filled and Clint sighed softly.

“It’s warm water,” Bruce informed him, “I had Pepper heat it.  Do you want me to stay and help?”

Clint hesitated, then nodded, turning away from Bruce to start to strip. “I can’t reach between my wings very well.” Bruce was suddenly behind him, running a hand down his feather-covered shoulders.

“I didn’t know that they covered your shoulders…”

Clint gave him a weird look. “They go all the way up into my hair and you can see my neck…” Feathers covered all of his upper back and over his shoulders. They went up his neck, and were interspersed in his hair. “It would be weird if they covered only my wings and neck.”  He dropped his pants and got into the bath. Every Ave was different, but it was rare that feathers didn’t extend over the shoulders.

“I suppose that’s true.  I went into pre-med briefly before switching to physics.  They went over stuff about molting, but I’ve never seen an actual Ave before you.”  Bruce slid into the water behind him, gently guiding Clint’s wing into the water.  He worked his hands through the feathers gently.

Clint calmed a little under the touch, his muscles loosening as the itchy pain was abated. “Never?” he asked, a bit surprised.  He knew his city wasn’t the only gathering of Aves. There must have been some that moved to the large, intermixed cities where most colleges were.

“Never,” Bruce confirmed. “There aren’t many in Aves in New York. I don’t think they find it as pleasant as most people do.” He finished with the wing and started on the other. “But, if you’re anything to go by, they’re very beautiful.”

Clint almost turned his head to look at the man.  It sounded like Bruce was trying to flirt with him, even though he knew it wasn’t.  The tone was too earnest and he knew Bruce a little now.  “Uh, thank you?”

“It’s only the truth. You shouldn’t have to thank me for it.” Bruce’s smile was evident in his voice. “If it’s not too intrusive, could I ask you about your home?”

Clint was quiet for a moment. “You really want to know about Orveri?” his voice was hushed. Bruce’s hands were still going over the feathers.

“You’re from the redwood forests,” Bruce stated, “I’ve never been.”

Clint nodded, leaning back as Bruce started to work on the feathers on his back. “I don’t know, what did you want to know about?” Feathers floated around him in the water.

“Anything. Everything.  What it was like, what it was like for you there. I’m curious.”

Clint racked his brain. He had never been to an intermix city, but he had heard tales. Bruce would want to know about what was different, of course. “The city’s up high, goes up almost to the top of the trees.  There are bridges that span the trees, but normally only used by the old, the fledglings and their mothers.”

Bruce chuckled softly. “Fledglings?”

“You know, fledglings. The small ones.”

“Oh, I know. But, well, where I’m from they’re called kids.  Fledglings only refer to actual birds. I suppose it’s appropriate.” Bruce moved up to his neck, messaging gently before working his way through feathers.

“Oh. Uh, I see.” He felt a little embarrassed, not knowing that. “Well, most people fly from one house to another.  Although, not everyone has a house. Some prefer to sleep in hammocks, in between the branches.  That’s more of a lower layer practice.  I did, for a while.”

“Lower layer?”

“There are layers of houses, from the top of the trees down to just feet above the forest floor.”

“Where did you live?”

“I was a hunter, so in the middle, closer to the top than to the bottom.”

“A hunter?” Bruce prompted, as his hands moved onto Clint’s shoulders.

“We went hunting, in the forest. You know, for food?  I was pretty good. Brought back a lot of foxes and bobcats. The occasional bear.  I’m guessing you’ve never been on a hunt.”

“No, they don’t have those in the city I’m from. Food is brought in from the outside. It’s very different from your home.”

“Natasha used to tell me that it was very different. I don’t think she liked being up so high.” Clint frowned a little.  He knew what it was like for her, now.  He had always lived in three dimensions, able to move freely about them, but now he was grounded in just two. It was hard to navigate like that, and a bit scary. What if he had to run?  It must have been just as jarring for Natasha to be pushed the other way around.

“You knew her, before.”

“She was… I thought she was my mate, for a while, but. She left.”

Bruce finished with his shoulders. “You don’t have to talk about it. I have other questions.”

Clint sighed and went to lean back against Bruce, suddenly tired, but Bruce held his hands out, stopping him. “I don’t want to crush your new feathers; it’ll hurt.” Clint sighed softly and pulled away, standing up and shaking a little, the water drops falling from his wings. Bruce stood up as well and got towels, handing one to Clint and using the other to dry his own skin and quills.

Clint leaned over the tub after getting dressed and scooped up the feathers, making sure to collect all of them.  Bruce watched. “What are you going to do with those?” he asked, not unkindly.

“Burn them,” Clint replied crisply, heading back to the other room. He put the feathers in the fire one by one, not wanting to put it out with the water that clung to them.  Bruce followed Clint, then watched him burn them.

“May I have one?” he asked softly.

Clint’s stomach squeezed at the thought – at the thought of Bruce getting cursed by keeping one of his feathers.  “No,” he said firmly, putting the last one in the fire before he crawled into the bed, curling up.

“Do you want me to come back with more food later?” Bruce’s voice was quiet, and he sounded a little hurt.

He was silent, listening to the other’s breaths. “No. Stay instead.”

 

 ------

 

It was Phil who found him curled up on the bed, shaking.  Bruce had left who knew how long ago and Clint felt awful, the pricks of his new feathers hurting as they grew in.  His old feathers were scattered around the bed and spilled onto the floor.  Phil quietly put the plate of food he had brought aside and closed the door with a soft click.  The bed dipped when Phil crawled onto it, pushing more feathers down to the cold floor.  He reached out to gently run a hand through Clint’s hair gently.  The man was obviously trying to comfort him.  Clint wanted to pull away; he couldn’t trust Phil yet, but everything hurt and Phil’s hand felt good.

It reminded him of Natasha, back when they were together. She would play with his hair when she read sometimes, his head in her lap, comfortable and happy.  Clint missed it, a nostalgic longing for when his life seemed to be lining up perfectly.

But this wasn’t Natasha. It wasn’t even anyone he truly felt safe with.  Phil’s hand didn’t cease, and Clint let out a soft sigh.  The feeling really was soothing.

“Does it hurt a lot? Should I go get Bruce?”

Clint curled up tighter. “No, don’t go get him.”  He didn’t want to use up the man’s kindness.  Phil sighed softly, but didn’t leave.  He pulled his hand out of Clint’s hair and moved to lay down next to him so they were facing each other.  Phil pulled Clint into a gentle hug, tucking Clint’s head under his chin.  Clint felt himself relax just a little, despite his suspicions towards the other.

Sometime later, as Clint was just getting to sleep, Bruce rejoined him.  He and Phil talked quietly over him as Bruce snuggled up against his back.  “How bad are your wings?” he murmured into Clint’s hair.

“Hurts a lot,” he replied sleepily, “Some new feathers are starting to break through my skin.”  Bruce ran his hand up and down Clint’s arm gently.

“Do you want me to go get you some pain killers?”

“Yes, please.”

The hand lifted off of him and the door opened and closed.  Clint was asleep before Bruce returned.

 

 ------

 

Steve knocked hesitantly on Clint’s door, a few days after his molting had ended.  His feathers were still fragile, but he had shed all of his old ones.  Clint’s head was in Bruce’s lap, dozing lightly. Bruce had his nose in a physics book.

Clint cracked open an eye at the noise, and Bruce looked up from his book.

“May I stay in here for a little while?” Steve asked, smiling nervously, “Tony’s driving me nuts, and I’ll be quiet.” He held up his sketchbook.

“It’s alright with me.” Bruce’s hand dropped into Clint’s hair, resting there.

“I don’t care,” Clint echoed Bruce’s sentiment, closing his eyes and returning to his light nap.

Steve sat at the end of the bed, and the sound of his pencil lightly swishing over the paper joined the sound of soft breathing in the room.

Tony appeared a long while later, sitting down on the floor in between Steve’s legs.  His furious scratching settled in the air with Steve’s soft swishes.

Pepper and Phil were the next to appear.  Pepper took a seat next to Tony on the floor, and Phil sat next to Steve on the bed. They quietly planned the meals for the next week and discussed what needed to be cleaned.  Clint fell a bit further into a doze.

Natasha was the last, closing the door behind her.  The click made Clint stir, and he opened his eyes to watch her move about.  She started up a fire in the fireplace, her serpentine nature making it harder for her to regulate her temperature.  The bed squeaked a little as Natasha moved to occupy the space between Phil and Clint. Bruce tensed a little when Clint rolled over, facing away from her.  His grip tightened a little in the short blond hair. Clint huffed, but turned back over, shifting to get comfortable.

It was quiet, but certainly not silent.  Clint found himself enjoying it.

It wouldn’t last long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long guys. I got a PS3 for Christmas, and well... >.>
> 
> But here it is! The next chapter shouldn't take so long to get up.


End file.
